Just Like the Ones I Used to Know
by selori
Summary: Tony and Pepper inaugurate an Avengers Christmas tradition - the movie marathon - with White Christmas. For the Feelstide 2013 prompt "Steve!Feels after watching White Christmas". Using this for the hurt/comfort square on my Trope Bingo: Round 2 card.
1. Chapter 1

"No! Ugh, Tony, what is wrong with you?" Pepper's voice flowed into the penthouse ahead of her graceful steps as she exited the dedicated elevator.

"Pep, pep-in-my-step, did you want that list alphabetically or chronologically? Because JARVIS can sort -"

"Tony, no! And don't deflect," she ordered, pointing an index finger to his arc reactor. "Almost 70 years of popular culture to pull from, and we are not starting Steve's first Christmas movie-fest with A Christmas Story."

"C'mon, Pepper, everyone loves that movie!" Tony cajoled. "Cap'll love it! It'll be just like a little slice of his own childhood."

"Are you honestly trying to troll me right now?" Pepper demanded.

"Toss up, really," Tony responded. His sidelong glance at her as he walked to the wet bar indicated he was weighing which answer would get him exiled from his workshop longer.

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, Tony" Pepper said, strawberry-blonde ponytail swaying as she shook her head, "but not everything before 1980 is Steve's era."

"But-!" Tony exclaimed, leaving the losing battle of Steve-nostalgia behind. "Red Rider BB Gun! The lamp of sex!" He opened a decanter, palming the ball of the stopper, and poured himself a few fingers of a lovely scotch.

"No, Tony," she said firmly. Her delicate fingers grasped the tumbler's flared rim and plucked it from his hold. "No ironic Christmas movies, no postmodern Christmas movies," she paused for a sip of scotch, "no deconstructionist Christmas movies, no horror-but-happens-to-take-place-during-Christmas movies-" The glass in her hand turned what would have been another index-finger-to-the-arc-reactor into more of a toast, and Tony heartily approved of that sentiment, if not her words.

Despite the warming feeling in the vicinity of his imperiled heart, he continued the argument. "But, Gremlins-!"

"Tony?" Steve called from the open stairwell door. "JARVIS said you needed me?"

"Cap? Seriously? I put the elevator in for a reason. JARVIS gets sad if you don't use it."

Pepper's halfhearted, chiding "Tony" was over-ridden by Steve. "You know I appreciate you, don't you, JARVIS."

"Indeed, Captain Rogers, you have been most forthcoming with your praise."

Tony raised an eyebrow at JARVIS' blatant brown-nosing. Or Steve's. Probably both. "Steve, Thanksgiving is over," he began, "so we're trying to determine the lineup for the Christmas movie marathon to further your acculturation to the 21st century. We were thinking you might enjoy something like-"

"Like White Christmas," Pepper overrode him.

"White Christmas, Pep?" Tony shuddered theatrically. "Are you trying to send me into a diabetic coma?"

"I like 'White Christmas'," Steve said with a small smile, his blue eyes lighting.

"You do?" Tony asked. "Why am I even asking. Of course you do," he muttered. "It's probably illegal for you to not like it, right? Was it a Constitutional Amendment? Or maybe just an Executive Order? Whatever." He brushed his hand through the air as if dismissing his engineering holograms. "When did you see it?"

"Uh, Tony," Steve responded, "'White Christmas' was pretty hard to miss. You are aware that I was in Europe during World War II, right?"

Tony turned wounded eyes to Pepper. "You see this?" he asked in an aside. "You see this snark? What did I ever do to deserve Captain America snark?"

"Oh, Tony," Pepper replied with mock sympathy, "would you like that list alphabetically or chronologically?"

"I'm used to that sort of tone from you, Ms. Potts," he replied mournfully, retrieving his scotch in retaliation. He saluted Coulson and Barton as they exited the elevator, angling the tumbler in their direction before he took an appreciative sip.

"Bing used to sing 'White Christmas' pretty much every performance. The men insisted," Steve said in his light baritone.

"I remember reading that about his USO performances," Coulson agreed. Barton peeled away from Coulson and headed to the kitchen. "At least half of the soldiers would have tears in their eyes at the end of the song."

Smiling, Barton rolled his eyes. "Coulson, the World War II trivia geek," he ribbed.

"We did," Steve agreed solemnly.

"Oh," Pepper said softly after a moment.

Barton opened the refrigerator door to peer inside for snacks, and the clatter of bottles broke the moment. Tony cleared his throat. "But when did you see it?"

Steve thought for a moment. "It must've been last-" He corrected himself mid-sentence. "Must've been in late '44, I think. Mr. Crosby didn't get over there until after D-Day, but once he did, he hit the 'cow pasture circuit' hard, and got as close to the front lines as he could. It was a real treat to get to see him in person. We crowded onto every surface we could. A lot of men stood the whole show, some still holding their rifles. But it was worth it." Steve smiled softly again. "So worth it."

There was a quiet pause, smashed by Tony's yelp when he half-turned and nearly crashed into Natasha. "Don't do that! I'm almost certain I have rules against using your super-ninja stealth skills in the Tower. Don't I, JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you alluded to a bell, and then digressed into speculation about who would have the required intestinal fortitude to 'bell the cat'."

Natasha retained the expressionless mask that scared her victims more than any amount of snarling.

Barton turned from the 'fridge, half-assembled sandwich in his hands, and hip-checked the door closed. "You are making zero points right now, Stark. Quit before you dig yourself in any deeper."

Natasha gave Barton a coolly approving nod and Tony took the opportunity presented to return to the topic at hand. "No but when did you see the movie, Cap? It came out in... Help me out here, JARVIS?"

"Nineteen fifty-four, sir," the AI replied.

"Fifty-four," Tony reiterated, "so you must have seen it sometime in the last few months? When?"

Steve shook his head slightly. "Seen what?"

"White Christmas."

"I just told you," Steve said patiently. "Saw him in '44."

Tony's forehead crinkled. "Wait, who?"

"This is like 'Who's on First?'," Steve murmured. "What are you talking about?"

"What's on second," Coulson and Barton deadpanned in unison.

"Thank you!" Steve grinned at the other men. "You're talking about a movie, Tony? I saw Holiday Inn in Brooklyn when it came out in '42. That's got 'White Christmas' in it."

"If I may, sirs, ladies," JARVIS interjected, "the source of the confusion is that the song 'White Christmas' became the centerpiece of the eponymous film in 1954, clearly too late for Captain Rogers to have seen it."

"Eponymous, JARVIS? Really? I did not teach you to use language like that! What strange computers have you been talking to? Do I need to call some server's mother?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you will find that I learned it from Schwartz."

"This," Tony said, waving his hand in the empty air to somehow indicate JARVIS and all his works. "This is what I have to put up with."

"Indeed, sir, your cross is a heavy one to bear," JARVIS responded dryly. "Fortunately, Dr. Banner is approaching and will no doubt take your side."

"JARVIS, please alert Thor that movie night is about to happen," Pepper requested.

"Yes!" Barton fist-pumped with his empty hand. "Who's ordering? We could have Thai by intermission, easy."

"You're making me watch a movie long enough to have an intermission?" Tony moaned. "That's got to be against the Geneva Convention."

There was another pregnant pause, interrupted this time by Pepper. "I don't even know where to start with that statement, Tony. All your griping, and you haven't even seen the movie?"

"Sure I have," Tony defended. "Lots of times. You couldn't miss it during the 70s and 80s on TV. Every Christmas season, every station - all three of them - over and over." He shuddered. "Channel one - oooh, look, that blue dance number. Channel two: Danny Kaye's holding his arm again. Channel three: why in the name of all that's holy are we watching beatniks dance for Christmas? Channel one: rhapsodizing about snow." He made a face he normally reserved for Dummy's more creative green smoothies "I have a horror of white-trimmed red velvet hooped dresses to this day."

"I would've thought TV was too lowbrow for a Stark, Stark," Barton said, after struggling manfully with both his disbelief and his bite of sandwich.

Tony gave him an sour look.

"The staff, including my predecessor, Edwin Jarvis," interjected JARVIS, "kept a television in the kitchens."

"And I used to run all over the house, back and forth, in and out," finished Tony.

"So, to clarify," Coulson began mildly, "you have seen bits and pieces of the film, possibly in random order, over the span of years, and you believe that this actually qualifies as having watched the movie?"

Tony paused, mouth open, and seemed to consider his retort. "Maybe?" he offered. "I mean, when you say it like that it sounds stupid."

The others collectively and generously avoided agreeing with this statement.

"Romanov, beverages," Coulson ordered crisply. "Barton, takeout." As the elevator opened on Bruce, Coulson turned his attention to him. "Dr. Banner, you're in charge of popcorn. JARVIS, please direct Thor to the theater in the common level. Ms. Potts, if you would be so kind as to continue your tenure as head Stark-wrangler?" At her nod, Coulson concluded, "Let's meet downstairs in ten, people."

"Captain? If you would come with me?" Coulson requested, gesturing for Rogers to walk with him to the stairs. "You may be interested to know that another young man from Brooklyn was in this picture..."


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you don't think so?" Coulson confirmed as they entered the theater room. "JARVIS, full lights, please."

"It's hard to know for sure," Steve responded, tugging the long sofa into a more central position in front of the enormous screen,"but I don't recall going to school with a Kaye."

"If I may, sirs," JARVIS interjected, "at school in Brooklyn, Mr. Kaye would still have been using his birth name, Daniel Kaminsky."

"Oh, now that sounds familiar," Steve offered. He bent, grasped the frame of the loveseat with one hand below the seat and one on its back, and carried it to the left corner of the couch, forming the left curve of the movie night semi-circle. "I think there were Kaminskys in the neighborhood, but..."

"And Mr. Kaye was five years your senior, Captain Rogers," JARVIS continued.

"And then there's that," Coulson added wryly. He was rocking an overstuffed armchair into position to the right of the sofa, a hand on each back corner, walking each leg forward six inches at a time. "Five years is a big gap between grade school students."

"And that's if we even started at the same school," Steve agreed. He lifted the second armchair and carried it across the room to its position next to the first, forming the last bit of the semicircle. "After my mother died, and I went to the orphanage, I changed schools, too."

Banner and Barton emerged from the elevator, pushing a bow wave of popcorn aroma before them, just in time to hear the end of Rogers' statement.

"Aw, school changing, no," Barton commiserated. "If I had a nickel for every different school I went to when I was in the system..." He placed his buckets of popcorn on the central coffee table. "Thai in an hour, Coulson," he reported, seating himself near the end of the sofa.

Coulson acknowledged the completed mission with a slight nod.

"I know what you mean," Banner agreed, setting down his popcorn. "Just when you get your feet under you," he made abvtt sound, "there you go again."

Thor and Natasha appeared from the kitchen. Natasha carried a cup of tea. Thor held several 6-packs of beer balanced atop a case of Coke. At Barton's incredulous look she defended simply, "He insisted." She handed the tea to Banner with a small smile. "Doctor."

Banner took the mug and returned the smile. "Thank you," he said, settling himself in the armchair closer to the screen, cup cradled in his broad palms.

Thor selected his beverage and, commandeering a bucket of popcorn, ensconced himself in the armchair next to the couch. "I look forward to watching one of your traditional winter entertainments," he pronounced.

Natasha brushed her fingers over his forearm as she sat between Barton and the couch's armrest. "Let me know if you have any questions, Thor," she said, folding her legs on the couch and tucking her toes partway under Barton's thigh.

"Tasha!" Barton jumped slightly. "Geez, your toes are cold!"

"Baby," she retorted, elbowing him genially in the ribs. Steve smiled, remembering how strangely good it had felt to be called a "punk" once upon a time.

Thor gifted her with a brilliant smile. "I thank you, Lady Natasha," he answered. "If I am troubled overmuch during the presentation, I shall avail myself of your wisdom."

Stark and Pepper emerged from the elevator, bickering in low tones with Pepper propelling Tony in before her. Tony grabbed a popcorn bucket as they crossed to the loveseat. Tony sat with his hips pressed half to the armrest, and pulled Pepper to sit flush against his thigh, half leaning on his chest, leaving room for another half-person on the remainder of the loveseat closer to the screen.

JARVIS dimmed the lights slightly, and Coulson sat next to Barton on the couch, pressing him further onto Natasha's feet. The three SHIELD agents made a Clint sandwich on the couch, hemming the archer in closely, leaving plenty of room for Steve to take the remaining spot near Tony. Steve would feel claustrophobic in Barton's place, but Hawkeye always seemed to enjoy being pressed thigh-to-thigh with his teammates.

"Bring it, JARVIS," Stark ordered. The lights lowered the rest of the way as JARVIS began the movie. Tony muttered into Pepper's ear, so close to his mouth, until she backhanded his chest, expertly avoiding barking her knuckles on the arc reactor.

Steve chuckled lowly as the idyllic backdrop of a snowy church was revealed to be a screen for a bombed out village. "That seems about right," he commented sotto voce to Coulson. "Sometimes it felt like there weren't two bricks left on top of each other in all of Europe."

Tony whispered again to Pepper who responded with a tight, "Tony, hush!" and a disgruntled wiggle of her shoulder against his ribs. When Crosby began crooning "White Christmas", however, even Tony's running commentary stopped. For a few minutes, the singer's mellow baritone was the only sound in the room.

When he finished the song, Bing stayed on the stage in front of the painted backdrop, thumbs tucked behind his belt and fingers curling below, scraggly Christmas tree at his side, and addressed the troops directly, unaware that their commanding officer had joined the audience.

Steve nodded along as Crosby recounted the soldiers' affection for their general. He saw agreement, or at least approval, amongst the SHIELD agents, too. As the General struggled for words to express his appreciation for his soldiers, Steve huffed a small laugh. "That sounds familiar," he said. "Never could tell the Commandos... well, what I needed to."

Coulson's sidelong glance was as comforting as a hand on arm. "They knew, Captain. They definitely knew."

The division on-screen began their "slam-bang finish", singing of their loyalty to their commanding officer. By the repeat, Barton was singing along, directing his words to Coulson. "I'll follow you, Old Man, wherever you want to go," he sang, bumping his shoulder against Coulson's.

"That was the only time you are allowed to use 'Old Man' in reference to me, Barton," Coulson riposted.

"But I can't call Steve 'Old Man'," Barton complained. "For one, he doesn't look it. And for another, that's Tony's line."

The shelling of the division on-screen interrupted their byplay, and the Avengers fell silent again as they watched the men run for cover from the bombs. Bing directed his men to safety, heedless of his own, and Kaye pulled him out of the way of a falling wall.

"Heaven save us from Captains with no sense of self preservation," Tony muttered under his breath.

"Amen," said Barton.

"So say we all," added Banner.

They settled into quiet for a bit, watching the byplay between the two main actors. Steve frowned as Kaye manipulated Crosby into forming a partnership, hummed along with several of the songs, and laughed at the banter between the two men. Thor and all four occupants of the couch smiled approvingly as Kaye and Crosby re-iterated that they were acting to benefit "a pal in the army."

As Danny Kaye spun Vera-Ellen off the cabaret floor into an extended dance number, Coulson leaned over to check in with Steve. "OK so far, Captain?" he asked.

Rogers nodded, gaze fixed on the screen, a bemused smile on his face. "I always loved musicals." He flicked a brief glance at Coulson. "Just about everybody danced when I was growing up. Everyone wanted to be Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers."

Coulson hmm'd thoughtfully and turned back to the screen where Kaye was attempting to hustle Crosby back into the sisters' dressing room.

"I've got a feeling I'm not going to like it," Crosby resisted.

"I've got a feeling you're gonna hate it," Kaye responded, and Steve laughed out loud as the scene dissolved into Crosby and Kaye beginning a musical routine... in part of the showgirls' outfits. The Avengers chuckled through the remaining scenes until the protagonists arrived at a near-deserted inn in Vermont, only to find it owned by their former commanding officer.

"General Waverly! A janitor!" Kaye gasped at the sight of his superior carrying wood.

"It's worse than that, I'm afraid," the general replied. "I own this inn."

Steve was the first to start laughing when General Waverly said, "If there's one thing the army taught me, it was to be positive, especially when you have no idea what you're talking about." Everyone had some experience with the military, though, and soon the laughter spread. Tony asked JARVIS to stop the movie until they quieted down.

Before they had a chance to restart the movie, JARVIS drew Stark's attention. "Sir, dinner has arrived."


	3. Chapter 3

In a flurry of activity, the Avengers assembled the takeout, spoons, chopsticks, forks for the impatient, more beverages, and plates, as Steve insisted that they not eat directly out of the boxes.

Having dispatched his first serving, Thor led off the discussion. "This is a traditional Midgardian method of wooing?"

"Speaking of people who are trolling," Tony said in an undertone to Pepper. At her inquisitive look, he continued, "Iknow he knows more of modern-day Earth than that."

"Shhh," she reproved. "Watch the show," she whispered, flicking a glance at Banner.

Sure enough, Bruce began an explanation of the history of the musical, both on stage and in film. Steve chimed in with the occasional comment about hyper-glamorous movies of the '30s.

"I don't think Danny Kaye really hit his stride until the '50s, though," Bruce concluded. "He's famous for playing the awkward, infatuated klutz."

"I'd like to say that he made me feel better about myself," Steve said ruefully, "but I only wish I was that suave when I tried to chat up dames in the war. Uh, girls," he corrected. "I mean women." He paused, eyes widening in dread. "Do I? Is that what I mean? Do I need to say 'persons of opposite gender'?"

Natasha, who had been holding a straight face until then, gave him a small smile. "The Diversity and Anti-Sexual Harassment Sensitivity seminars getting to you, Cap?"

"Aw, they ran Cap through DASHeS? That's just cruel," Barton commiserated.

"Mandatory training for SHIELD agents, Barton," Coulson reminded him.

"Couple of days of that, and you're too nervous to say anything. To anyone. About anything," Banner said, laughing briefly at his own discomfort. He turned his attention to Steve. "So, what do you think of the movie, Steve?" he asked.

"Parts of it remind me of my time in the USO," Steve answered. "The combination of putting on a show and a crabby commanding officer, well..." His remark was greeted with general laughter.

"Colonel Phillips?" Coulson asked.

"He could give General Waverly a run for his money," Steve agreed. "Tear a strip off your hide up one side and down the other. But because he valued his soldiers. And his men would have followed him anywhere."

"A good commander is worth his weight in ordnance," Barton said. "When you find one who'll lead you in and pull you out-"

"One who is deserving of loyalty," Thor added.

"One who can earn your trust," Natasha said, with a speaking look toward Coulson.

"The Howling Commandos certainly felt that way about you, Captain," Coulson said softly. Even in the low lights of the home theater, Steve's embarrassed red flush was visible.

"Those men just needed someone who could put their skills to use and point them at the enemy," Steve disagreed modestly. "I don't think I did that much, really."

Barton shook his head in disbelief. "And that's why he's your hero," he said quietly to Coulson.

"I just wanted to be..." Steve searched for the word he wanted. "Useful. I wanted to be useful. Selling war bonds was necessary," Steve looked down at his plate shyly, "but I was pretty glad to call that job quits. Mr. Crosby said he felt ridiculous not being in the military; I knew exactly what he meant. I told him I felt the same way, but entertaining troops with the USO was an incredible service to the military."

Tony choked on his thot man. The remaining humans turned to stare at Steve in stunned silence. Thor, after a quick glance around to ensure the conversational pause did not mean actual danger, loaded up his fourth plate.

Barton, unsurprisingly, found his voice first. "Uh, did you just say that you met Bing? Like not only saw him perform, but met him and talked with him?" He looked a bit... starstruck, for lack of a better word.

"Yes?" Steve confirmed uncertainly. "We bonded over USO performance stories a bit-"

Pepper, her eyes starry and huge in her pale face, interrupted, "Wow. Just wow. That is so amazing. That would be so... amazing."

"No kidding!" Barton agreed fervently.

Seeing Steve's confusion, Bruce offered, "See, Cap, anyone can be a celebrity today-"

"For example!" Tony said, indicating himself with a waving fork.

"-with enough money or notoriety," Bruce continued. "But Bing is just..." He trailed of with an expressive shrug.

"Bing!" Tony exclaimed. "That's like meeting a god. No offense, Thor."

Thor looked like he couldn't quite puzzle out the possible source of offense, but nonetheless gamely replied, "None taken, my friend."

Steve shook his head in disbelief. "It's astonishing to me that you think Thor is the one you need to apologize to for that bit of blasphemy, Tony."

Tony shrugged. "Everyone good to go again?" he asked, setting down his plate. "We need to re-up on drinks, or everybody still OK?"

Pepper turned to him in disbelief. "You're wanting to start the movie again? For the record, you're asking us to re-startWhite Christmas so you can watch more?"

Stark's glance shifted away and down. "Uh, sooner we start, sooner it'll be done?" he tried. Pepper shook her head. "No? Well," he waved a hand at Steve, "we can't leave Cap with the movie half-watched, can we?"

"Nice recovery." Pepper smiled indulgently at him. "We'll go with that one."

Steve watched Vera-Ellen's dance number with wide eyes. When, near the end of the routine, she finished off with a series of rapid front-to-back high kicks that extended beyond 180 degrees, his mouth actually dropped open. "Gosh, she's really limber, isn't she," he said, awe in his voice.

Natasha leaned around Barton and Coulson to look directly at him. "That's what you take away from that?" she whispered laughingly. "She's limber?"

"Sure," Steve asserted. "There were girls in the USO who would've given anything to kick like that. They were always stretching and trying for, um, better extensions? Is that still the word? It doesn't just mean hair?" At Natasha's nod he continued. "A lot of them wanted to audition for the Rockettes after the war."

"Steve, seriously?" Barton asked, also leaning forward. "Not that she's all..." he waggled his eyebrows suggestively and drew the last word out until it was dripping with innuendo, "li-imber?"

Coulson thumped his forearm into Clint's chest. "Back, you," he whispered, pushing at Barton until his back was once more pressed against the couch.

"Uh, no." Steve shook his head. "And... oh! No," he continued in embarrassment. He looked desperately to Natasha. "She's very talented?" he asked hopefully.

She gave him a tiny smile and Steve sighed in relief. "You're right. She is a good dancer." Then Natasha grinned.

"Romanov, Barton, stop baiting the Captain," Coulson ordered sternly. "Watch the film."

As the movie segued into a soft romantic number, Natasha rotated until her hips were against the arm of the couch, then stretched her legs over Clint's lap, tucking her toes under Coulson's thighs. The process opened up several inches between them, and Clint scooted closer to her, turning his torso and leaning back until he was resting against her, his head against her collarbone. He tucked his shin under Coulson's, and Coulson in turn almost absently edged toward Clint, closing the gap between them.

Suddenly the SHIELD agents were taking up only two-thirds of the couch amongst them, and Steve had plenty of room to sprawl on the remaining third. While he appreciated the space, he missed the extensive history, the shared experiences, that would have made his close contact with another person feel so comfortable.

On screen, General Waverly asked Bing to read the letter from the War Department replying to his request to rejoin the army. "Your amusing letter was more appreciated than you can imagine," Bing read aloud. "'Course you've got plenty of time to be amusing, sitting on that porch and rocking away..."

Steve winced in empathy as the general's application for a overseas training post was received as a joke. It was far too reminiscent of his own attempts to enlist, and then his tenure as a performing monkey (in his opinion) rather than as a true soldier.

He twitched when something hit his shoulder. The offending popcorn bounced from his arm to the floor. He turned to look at Stark just as he was preparing to fire another missile. "What?" he asked in a low voice.

Stark gave him an exaggerated smirk. "Here comes the comedic miscommunication. Wanted to make sure you were mentally set. You seemed to be getting a little misty for the general."

"Tony, stop!" Pepper hissed. "Don't spoil it for him." She directed her gaze to Steve. "I can probably work out a gag of some sort if you'd like, Steve. It's not like he even knows what he's talking about anyway." She directed a fierce mock-glare at Tony. "Mr. I've-never-actually-seen-it."

Steve just smiled and shook his head. Soon he was cringing for a different reason as the dancers began their atonal, ultra-mod "Choreography" routine.

He reached over Coulson to tap Natasha's ankle. When he had her attention, he asked, "Did this really happen? I mean, is this a joke?"

"What, modern dance?" she whispered back.

Between them, Barton mouthed ugly dance.

"You didn't see any of this before you went under? It started in New York. There would've been concerts? Performances?" She trailed off inquisitively.

"Not much of a dancer at the time," Steve replied.

"Well, this is an extreme example, but," she gave an exaggerated shudder. "Cap, don't get me started."

He laughed softly and turned back to watch the odd juxtaposition of styles. "Heckuva thing," he said under his breath.

The Avengers watched quietly as Crosby and Kaye's idea to bring the troops of the general's last command to the Vermont inn was partially overheard, misquoted, and misunderstood and the romantic leads went most of the way toward destroying any happiness they had been about to achieve.

"Why don't people ever just talk to each other?" Tony groused.

Pepper shot him a sidelong look. "Palladium Pot, I'd like you to meet Iron Man kettle."

"I'm not sure that would make it so much better," Barton disagreed. "What's she going to say? I think you're doing something skeevy, and I know 'cuz I was listening to gossip from someone who was eavesdropping? That'd go over well."

Coulson cleared his throat and eyeballed Barton meaningfully. "And yet, most misunderstandings can be resolved more easily than they are, if the parties involved are willing to sacrifice a only bit of pride."

Natasha directed a wry smile at her handler over Clint's head as she said, "Cough, Budapest, cough."

Clint huffed a brief laugh before tickling her ankles in retaliation. "Okay, okay, enough, geez!"

Steve's attention was drawn back to the film as Rosemary Clooney began to sing. "Love, you didn't do right by me. You planned a romance that just hadn't a chance, and I'm through." The torch song seemed suddenly louder as each person stopped moving, stopped eating, and seemed even to stop breathing. Everyone very carefully did not meet each other's eyes for the duration of the song.

Everyone took a deep breath as the song ended.

The tension was broken by an on-screen shriek and the Avengers' resulting laughter as Danny Kaye declared that his fall down the stairs had resulted in only a small compound fracture. Or a small internal muscular hemorrhage.

They breathed relieved sighs as Bing sang his plea to the soldiers of the 151st Division: "What can you do with a general when he stops being a general? Oh, what can you do with a general who retires?"

Steve leaned over and asked Coulson, "Was that a problem?"

Coulson nodded in thoughtful agreement. "Re-entry was difficult for a lot of soldiers. The country had changed while they were away. Even if it hadn't, they were different, too."

"I know from different," Steve said wryly. He had a moment to feel grateful that he had found use again in this new century instead of being mothballed as an old experiment.

"Asgardian warriors do not 'retire'," Thor said. "They continue to fight until their glorious death in battle. Though of late," he continued slowly, "I have come to see the value of an existence not circumscribed by war, and did even implore the Lady Sif to retreat from battle and risk herself no further."

As they spoke, the scene changed and Barton again began singing along to "We'll follow the Old Man wherever he wants to go."

Coulson gave him a half-exasperated elbow to the ribs.

"What?" Barton asked, his eyes round with mock-innocence. "It's a catchy tune, sir."

Until Bing reprised "White Christmas", Steve had all but forgotten he was watching a Christmas movie. His Christmases hadn't been full of the nostalgia in the song. It would be a stretch to refer to Brooklyn tree-tops as "glistening" under the weight of snow. He had never listened for sleigh bells.

He might not miss the Norman Rockwell Christmases, and New York was a world away from the idealized Currier & Ives Christmas, but he could miss days that were merry and bright with laughter of a brown-eyed friend and shared history. What he did remember was that last Christmas he had been watching Mr. Crosby perform his famous song with Bucky at his side.


End file.
